


The Freestyled Inelegance of Desperation

by afterdalton



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, M/M, background depressed!Kurt, kind of ambiguous I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:19:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdalton/pseuds/afterdalton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Darkness remains as he cuts loose dying dreams anchoring him beneath the swelling tide of Kurt’s storm."</p><p>Written for the week one Klaine Writer's Challenge prompt: dancing in the rain</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freestyled Inelegance of Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure about this one, but I wrote it so I'll post it :/

Midnight blackness shifts into the murky grey of settling rainclouds. In a sunless dawn, shadows haunt every corner and crevice. Tired feet drag along soft carpeting, gently disturbing the morning’s quiet. A childless nursery lays bountiful and abandoned beyond an opening door. Blaine rubs the sleep from his eyes, pulling at brass until enclosure comes.

The rain beating steady on paned glass and Blaine’s shuffling around keep silence at bay. Hesitant hands toy with the tokens of a life unled; months of eggs counted before hatched. _Stuff_ occupies shelves, hangs on walls, rests atop blankets and tables and chairs. Boxes collect clutter 'til full, and pile in dark corners.

Blaine pauses in his toiling to squelch the rising bile threatening to erupt. Rocking alone in the chair they bought to match the crib and changing table, he wills away hot tears and forces down the lump in his throat.

Resuming his tasks lets his busy limbs take precedence over his busy mind. Books on names and parenting, little princes and wild things, stifle, conjuring memories of his husband’s enthusiasm to overindulge.

Darkness remains as he cuts loose dying dreams anchoring him beneath the swelling tide of Kurt’s storm.

With a small twist to the final screw, the crib is dissembled. A short thud sounds as he places the pieces against the wall before silence descends in its place.

:: ::

Drizzling skies temper temporary relief of escaping unnoticed at the sound of Kurt emerging from his cocoon of sorrow like a butterfly who believes he’s a moth. A guilty heart hammers into Blaine’s ribcage with every step away from dealing with their problems.

Running without forethought leaves him stranded outdoors feeling fortunate for cars with keypads, particularly the one parked in their driveway.

The rain picks up, clinking down on the roof overhead. The black and white image of a child not yet born hides in the glove compartment, too adored to toss however tragic to keep. By now that child must be garbling sounds and crying for his mother’s attention, must smile and laugh, must have started sleeping through the night.

Damage lingers from the fall caused by the rug being pulled out from under them when a woman rescinded her offer before ink met paper, when expecting parents became simply men and she became mother.

Conversations sat on tips of tongues, never spoken aloud. Bedsides grew cold in absence of bodies to warm them. Husbands capsized in a bay of insecurities.

:: ::

Kurt is beauty and anguish striding outside, fluttering his ruffled wings in the winds of downpour. No longer numb, he is fury come to break on Blaine’s shore.

Exiting his metal asylum, Blaine braces for impact.

“What did you do?” The words ripped from Kurt like roots buried deep underground barrel towards Blaine. Kurt’s balled fists land one hit after another against Blaine yielding chest before collapsing with the rest of him.

Uncertainty’s foothold loosens as Blaine joins him, letting the pooling water gather around their shivering bodies. Touch is a foreign concept to the distance growing since autumn, but arms testing the waters find no resistance and dive in.

Lightning cracks a whip through the violent sky. Rising first, Blaine offers his hand to Kurt. Kurt accepts and they rush to safety indoors. Slickness lends to the subsequent dance of clumsy limbs and reckless missteps, to the freestyled inelegance of desperation.

Dry land is reached beyond the porch steps and creaking front door. Dripping water sinks into the flooring. Blaine flicks on the light and runs for towels, leaving Kurt in the doorway and finding him there when he returns. Adrenaline is surging through his veins. He sheds his clothes carelessly, kicking them aside and toweling off.

Kurt has gone still, vulnerable and numb, looking like a child with wet clothes clinging to his skin. This is the man Blaine feared. This man looking as lost as he did the day they met. For all the times their relationship has been victim to miscommunication or lack thereof, it always feels like battling against the waves to learn how to swim.

Wary hands and practiced fingers undress Kurt while he watches on in silence. Blaine runs the runs a towel through Kurt’s hair, scrunching and rubbing and never breaking eye contact. The towel travels along Kurt’s arms, slips between his fingers, goes back the way it came, slides across his chest. Kurt’s hand catches Blaine as it draws away.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore,” Kurt confides. A hushed revelation by lamplight breaches the surface of calming waters and puts air their lungs; the sensation is suddenly new and exotic.

Clouds dissipate and the moon takes its guard over the starry sky, reflecting light daytime lacked. In the nighttime chill, warmth is found in the fire driving Blaine fast across the forgotten bridge linking him eternally to Kurt.

“Me neither.”


End file.
